sábado, 4 de mayo de 2013

ODISEO



I
ODISEO




Cántame bella Circe

Ahora que Penélope ha muerto;

Cántame las rutas secretas de tu amparo

La incerteza de saberme guerrero entre tus muslos.

Canta en mi oído la canción con que solías hechizarme


Y en la cual

Era ciego el verdor de muchos cielos

La caminata serrada de mi propio laberinto.

Canta,

Hechicera de la muerte,

De los bosques,

Bella nínfula del río

La clave cifrada de tus pechos

Tu pétalo marchito

Sobre el vaso saliente de mi cuerpo bifurcado.

Despierta del sueño pesado de los viajes


Penélope ha marchado también hacia la noche

Y estoy solo como un carricero en mitad del árbol,

Triste como un gusano en el rondel del fruto.



lunes, 29 de abril de 2013

MAN








  

MAN

 
Mashiaj is my Shepherd
 

There's nothing I need


The fruit will overflow, the leaves, the weathercocks.


The spheres that transit the ethers
 

The poem that grows quietly


In the permissive and forbidden tree of the night


Mashiaj is my Shepherd

 
There's nothing I need







I shall harvest from all things around the world


The songs, the ravines, the shores
 

I will rest my back
 

On the stones of the desert


I will contemplate the obstreperous flight of the rivers
 

Over the mantle chiaro-oscuro of the valleys
 

In times when life becomes scarce


And Satan will rise like a hymn from the card-deck
 

Mashiaj shall provide the freshness
 

I will walk naked through the cosmos
 

Like one more star of Infinity 


Like a comet on the luminous mantle of death
 

And fame and defeat will come
 

Like two sisters, daughters of Calliope
 

And I will not fear them
 

Nor will I run away from them
 

Because my breast
 

 Streaming down like water is theirs
 

And theirs is my palate
 

That savors the fall
 

Mashiaj is my Shepherd


There is nothing I need

 
The three days of darkness


Will make me reflect on the shadows
 

The minuscule ants from the desert
 

Will not gnaw one iota  from the air
 

The destruction of the cities


Will not darken the daily blooming
 

Of the rains and the stars
 

And the light will come with its veils and dances
 

Maybe my blindness will be nourished by these songs
 

And my sword, will be nourished by their hair

 
Breaking the chasm toward the Promised Land.
 
 
 

 


 

 Winston Morales Chavarro

English translation: Luis Rafael Gálvez
 




Follow by Email